Anyone who has been on a great date only to wake up in an unfamiliar bed the morning after will identify with what is happening to me now. One questions much of the night before and wonders if one made the right choices when faced with the consequences in the brightness of day.
The helmet I fell in love with and bought needs a LOT of getting used to. For starters, it is made for a specific purpose: to allow someone (rather young and rather well-trained) to go really fast and not die if they crash. So, other than that, and the beautiful shape and colours, it has literally nothing in terms of comfort or features. It fits so snugly that my cheeks are pressed hard against the inner material, my jaw clenched shut, and my head ensconced nearly exactly and perfectly by its insides. And then, once the visor closes, one finds oneself as if locked in an airless (though it has enough vents to aspirate a whale, should it need to wear this, if whales rode fast motorcycles around a race track, which in itself is an amusing thought; but we digress), hyper-futuristic glass dome as if in some science fiction space adventure, resulting in severe and sudden claustrophobia, which gives rise to difficulty in breathing, sudden disorientation, and dizziness, while hampering the ability to focus on doing anything, leave alone ride, or ride fast for that matter. Opening the visor helps a bit. But generally, the double D-ring fastener, the ultra-tight fit, the cheeks being squeezed together, the fact that it is a monocoque design and not modular (so I cannot quickly open up the lower half by swinging it from the hinge to breathe quickly), and my totally juvenile approach to and childishly impulsive behaviour in buying such a piece of state-of-the-art protection without sparing a thought of how a newbie idiot amateur like me is going to be able to use it gave rise to severe self-doubt, welled-up buyer’s remorse, and triggered an existential crisis inside me this morning.
So, I did what I normally do in such situations: pace about like a caged animal, speaking to myself, trying to resolve the dilemma in my head. Not that it fixes anything. But at least it gives me a feeling of doing something, however ineffective. Anyway, it would seem Kymaia spotted me walking about muttering to myself and asked me what was wrong. I told her. She said, ‘Baba, do you remember what you say when I tell you something is too difficult for me to do? You say that there is one and only one solution to it, and that is practice. So, I think you should, ahem, practise what you preach.’ I realised the kid’s got a point. And is getting close to becoming an unbearable punster. Like her father. Apple, tree, and all that.
And that is how I find myself going about my morning tasks wearing my new purchase on my head. It isn’t because I am still mostly a teenager inside this 50-year-old body, and I like to wear any new acquisition to bed and then, the whole day the next day (suspecting everyone and their uncle and their dog is looking at me and admiring the new thing, whatever it is), as if not doing so would somehow take away the ‘brand-newness’ (if that’s a word) of the item thus acquired, and would be seen as a wasted opportunity in hindsight. It is because an 8-year-old told me to practice wearing my exorbitantly expensive professional race track helmet in a familiar environment before taking it out on a ride in the wild.
Well, that’s my story, anyway. And I am sticking to it.
